How long has it been since he's felt something akin to nervousness. It's not that he was lacking such emotions, in fact, Hades typically had emotions to spare! However, with everything he's endured, everything he's experienced, there was precious little that could make him feel nervous.
Yet, here he was. Two glasses of wine in, the house practically spotless (thanks to his nitpicking and directing of the Yamask with their cleaning), and any minute now the vegetarian moussaka he's prepared will be ready. It would only be right for them to have a warm meal to enjoy upon coming home after their long journey.
There's much on his mind, too much perhaps, and that's why he's sitting at the kitchen table, face resting against his palm as he stares off at nothing in particular. The Yamask have all returned their masks to the mask rack upon the wall, and the Rotom were behaving themselves, and while he could stay in the front room watching for them, he's found letting himself zone out lost to his thoughts a better comfort.
Generous though it is to call it that.
As for the house itself, it's a bit of a duplex really, with the entrance opening to a long hallway that goes past his bedroom, before opening up to the kitchen on the left, and leading to the bathroom on the right, just beyond the stairs that lead to the second floor. Beyond the kitchen and the living room attached to it is the garden, where once was a young maple that was cruelly killed by Hythldaeus' Tropius. A shame, really. The house itself is modestly adorned with small floral decorations, and traditional oil paintings hanging throughout, some decorative pottery here and there as well. All of it keeping to the very Hingan style of the older building.
It's quaint, yet artistic. And for that Hades likes it quite a lot.
Yet, for all he enjoys it, there is little that can quell the anticipation in his bosom as he waits for his company to arrive. Absently sipping his wine, and finishing off his third glass already. Oops.
It is soon after Hades finishes his third glass when Hythlodaeus’s Tropius lands in the garden with a thud and an indignant out crying of hundreds of displaced cutiefly.
Hythlodaeus calls out a “We’re home!” as if that wasn’t already so abundantly clear.
He leads Elidibus in as Tropius squeezes his body into the living room, trailing behind in clear want of treats. Hythlodaeus rubs him under the chin, noticing that the bananas were finally growing back in properly. Hopefully they would stay that way.
Once they are all in the same room, he looks between them and smiles. He almost feels bad about his part in all of it, but not really. He has no difficult feelings about his choices, though he knows that in and of itself is what most others find difficult with him.
“...Oh! Do I smell moussaka?”
Tropius gets ahead of Hythlodaeus, setting his head on the table and looking up at Hades with big, watery eyes.
Elidibus trails after Hythlodaeus looking more than a little lost, his diminutive form only emphasizing that fact. There is much to be seen in his wandering eyes - obscured by mask though they are, the beaked covering betrays his gaze - posture far more open than it has been since time untold. There is wonder hidden amongst his composure, still held to with the grip of a man drowning at sea. The Emissary is drowning, in a way, memories regained still needing to be sorted through.
By His Dark Grace, he had lost so much time.
But now, it had been found. Somehow. He had died for his failures, dissipating after the flash of memory and endless grief. And loss, so, so much loss. Their city, their people, their world. The knowledge lapped at his neck, threatening to overtake him with every breath, renewed in its entirety.
And Hades had borne it all this time. Alone.
So when Hythlodaeus leads him into their abode, when pale eyes fall upon a familiar form-
There was no option for Elidibus, save for one.
He strides forward and pulls Emet-Selch into a crushing embrace, voice choked taut with the strain of everything.
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action; 9/10 backdated babeyyyy
Yet, here he was. Two glasses of wine in, the house practically spotless (thanks to his nitpicking and directing of the Yamask with their cleaning), and any minute now the vegetarian moussaka he's prepared will be ready. It would only be right for them to have a warm meal to enjoy upon coming home after their long journey.
There's much on his mind, too much perhaps, and that's why he's sitting at the kitchen table, face resting against his palm as he stares off at nothing in particular. The Yamask have all returned their masks to the mask rack upon the wall, and the Rotom were behaving themselves, and while he could stay in the front room watching for them, he's found letting himself zone out lost to his thoughts a better comfort.
Generous though it is to call it that.
As for the house itself, it's a bit of a duplex really, with the entrance opening to a long hallway that goes past his bedroom, before opening up to the kitchen on the left, and leading to the bathroom on the right, just beyond the stairs that lead to the second floor. Beyond the kitchen and the living room attached to it is the garden, where once was a young maple that was cruelly killed by Hythldaeus' Tropius. A shame, really. The house itself is modestly adorned with small floral decorations, and traditional oil paintings hanging throughout, some decorative pottery here and there as well. All of it keeping to the very Hingan style of the older building.
It's quaint, yet artistic. And for that Hades likes it quite a lot.
Yet, for all he enjoys it, there is little that can quell the anticipation in his bosom as he waits for his company to arrive. Absently sipping his wine, and finishing off his third glass already. Oops.
no subject
It is soon after Hades finishes his third glass when Hythlodaeus’s Tropius lands in the garden with a thud and an indignant out crying of hundreds of displaced cutiefly.
Hythlodaeus calls out a “We’re home!” as if that wasn’t already so abundantly clear.
He leads Elidibus in as Tropius squeezes his body into the living room, trailing behind in clear want of treats. Hythlodaeus rubs him under the chin, noticing that the bananas were finally growing back in properly. Hopefully they would stay that way.
Once they are all in the same room, he looks between them and smiles. He almost feels bad about his part in all of it, but not really. He has no difficult feelings about his choices, though he knows that in and of itself is what most others find difficult with him.
“...Oh! Do I smell moussaka?”
Tropius gets ahead of Hythlodaeus, setting his head on the table and looking up at Hades with big, watery eyes.
no subject
By His Dark Grace, he had lost so much time.
But now, it had been found. Somehow. He had died for his failures, dissipating after the flash of memory and endless grief. And loss, so, so much loss. Their city, their people, their world. The knowledge lapped at his neck, threatening to overtake him with every breath, renewed in its entirety.
And Hades had borne it all this time. Alone.
So when Hythlodaeus leads him into their abode, when pale eyes fall upon a familiar form-
There was no option for Elidibus, save for one.
He strides forward and pulls Emet-Selch into a crushing embrace, voice choked taut with the strain of everything.
"Hades."